


A destiny destroyed

by phisen



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-17 17:16:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9334856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phisen/pseuds/phisen
Summary: After Geralt slayed the final Crone and found the memento he was looking for, his grief made him a lot less preceptive than usual. There aren't too many beasts that can cull a witcher, but during the circumstances, the beasts got lucky. Geralt got lucky too, when he was found by a travelling herbalist crossing the Crookback bog.





	1. Chapter 1

**~Velen, Crookback bog~**

As he rummaged through the cottage, he knew that he had uttered the lie of his life just moments before. "I don't feel a thing anymore." Nothing could be farther from the truth. He felt an array of emotions. One thing all these emotions shared was the fact they've been locked away, even forgotten, for a very long time.

He clumsily looked underneath, inside and behind anything that could possibly hide what he sought. And there, just below the army of gutted hares hanging to cure, he saw a small chest. Almost in a blind fury, he grabbed it and tossed it on the straw-clad floor. His hands trembled. Was it panic? Why, yes, it was. For the longest seconds of his life, his heart almost siezed to beat until he noticed it lying there. The medallion.

He picked it up off the floor and held it, gazing at the head of a silver wolf baring its teeth at him. Vesemir's medallion. No, Ciri's medallion.

The world stood still. He was suddenly overcome with intense grief. So intense that he had to sit down to stay concious. He buried his face in his hands, still holding the one memento left of the girl that he deperately had tried to keep out of harm's way. The cool silver against his forehead felt like ice, a numbing pain. "I don't feel a thing anymore," he mouthed as a lone tear rolled down his cheek.

Then, oblivion claimed him.

* * *

She rarely came through the bog. Even so, she noticed at once that something was different. The feel of the place for sure, she concluded. It felt lighter. She didn't share the common practise around these parts, worshipping The Ladies. She belonged to another kind of faith.

She heard some rustling to her right. Just a riderless horse, she noticed, as she tried to make her grey gelding walk a bit slower whilst pulling the cart. Funny, how the bay mare looked. War-horse plates, and such a fancy saddle. Someone used to take very good care of her, she was not a horse for plowing fields.

As the shadows grew longer, she decided that now was not the time to think about masterless equines. She clicked her tongue to make the grey speed up. The gelding had probably taken a couple of strides in trot, when she heard something that wasn't the normal sound of a horse. It sounded like a person.

"Woo there," she whispered as she gave a light tug at the reins. When the gelding came to a stop, she climbed out of the cart, feeling slightly uneasy and intrigued at the same time. The feeling didn't subside when she saw a cottage that looked like it had been blown to bits. _What happened here?_

She barely ended her train of thought, when she, underneath some rubble, saw a person. So that's where the sound came from.

At a first glance, she tought the man had expired during the time she was looking for him. She decided to do what she's always done in situations like this; make sure. Not that she often came across men half-buried men in the middle of nowhere. She pulled off some splintered logs off the man's body, and became even more intrigued. And definitely more uneasy.

The man lay on his back, with grotesque wounds on his body. His armour had been slashed, sliced and cut through on multiple places, and he had been bleeding profusely. The dry grass underneath him was not yellow anymore, it was black. Totally saturated with blood. She shook his head, for she knew that bleeding out was a terrible way to go, before one became unconcious.

She continued to study the man. His hair was white, but he didn't quite look the age. His beard too, was white, if your didn't focus on the caked blood all over his left side of his face. His lips was slightly parted, and she could see blood in his mouth. Around his neck, a medallion that looked like a wolf with its maw wide open. Funny, that.

He seemed to be gripping something. _A vial?_ She bent down and unlodged the thin piece of glass and smelled its contents. Goldenrod, for sure. And also a bit of... yarrow? He had apparently tried to make the bleeding stop, since they both have strong coagulating properties. She sighed. _Such a waste. Of a life, as well of such knowledge._

"I'm sorry," she said. "You put up a fight, I can tell".

She knelt down beside the man. She felt his forehead, which was cold. She decided to, just for the hell of it, feel for a pulse. Nothing. Not so surprising. Absent-mindedly, she withdrew her hand and prepared herself to stand when she noticed fresh blood on her hand. She quickly ripped open the man's armour at the neck, and was taken aback when a thin pulsating stream of blood added to the already blackened ground. His mail had been keeping some kind of pressure on the gash. He was alive, but for how much longer?

Instinctively, she put both of her hands on the side of the man's neck. Pressure is key. She clawed after the vial she had left on the ground and swore when she noticed that the herbal mix wouldn't be enough. Biting hard on one of the arms of dress, she ripped it from her wrist to her armpit, and pulled hard to make it come off. With motions relying on muscle memory, she made a makeshift pressurised poultice. No time to waste, they had to get out of there. She ran back to the cart, grabbed the reins of the grey gelding and dragged him behind her until he lazily started to trot.

As she came up with a makeshift sledge, using the few tools and trinkets she had on the back of the cart together with some of the remnants of the cottage, a thought of doubt came across her. How will she be able to save this man? Considering the amount of blood he had lost, not to mention the wounds, he would probably pass away before she could properly take care of him. She shook her head as she tied the final knot that hopefully would keep the sledge connected to the back of her cart. _No time for doubts_ , she thought to herself. _Now, to get him on the bloody thing._

She was horribly surprised when he started to move.

* * *

He had experienced this before, no doubt of it. How he acted then, or rather lack thereof, had been torturing him ever since. Unresolved things had that effect on him. Somewhere in his muddled mind, he knew that he had just the one chance to soothe the feelings that had been locked away for ages. He was not going to let the opportunity pass, not this time. And he was most certainly not going to be lulled into a magic induced sleep this time either.

Raising his arms took all the power he could muster, as he reached for her face. He apprently startled her, which kind of annoyed him, when his sudden moves resulted in him sliding her headscarf off her head. Red hair. Just like her. Because it was her. No doubt.

"I have longed for you. Ever since you mended me. My leg." He tried his best to focus on her face, trying to keep his hands close to her. Not letting her go. Trying to feel her cheeks. "I never said the things I wanted, asked you what I needed to know. About my name. About you. I never thought I needed you, but I did. I do. Please, stay with me."

* * *

She couldn't make out any of the words the man uttered. His lips barely moved, and she knew that any kind of activity that would exhaust him could be fatal. _How come he still has some strength left in him_ , she thought as she tried to keep his pawing hands off her face. He had pulled her headscarf off, that she could live with. But she whinced when he started to reach for her cheeks, pulling on the piece of cloth she wore in front of her nose and mouth. He had to be calmed down.

 _What? Did he say 'stay with me'?_ She took a firm hold of his wrists and as firmly as she dared to, pressed them down so his arms would lie alongside his body.

"I will, calm yourself," she said, once his arms were down and resting beside him. No struggle, no trying to reach her face. The effort must have rendered him unconcious. She eased her grip, just to make sure. No reaction. She let go of the man's wrists, and decided once again to make sure that he was still with her.

She carefully put her thumb on one of his eyelids and gently pulled it up. Just enough to peer underneath it to see any kind of ocular reaction. She saw his pupil reacting, ever so slightly, but... _His eyes!_ They were yellow and bore the resemblance of a cat's.

"Well, witcher," she whispered in his ear whilst grabbing his shoulders, readying him to be rolled over to the sledge. "This is going to hurt".


	2. Chapter 2

**~Velen, outside Downwarren village~**

The trip north took a lot longer than expected. Because of the witcher being pulled on a sledge behind her cart, anything faster than a brisk walk could make the construction tip over and possibly injure him even more.

It was very late, or early depending on how you look at it, when they passed Downwarren. She knew that going through the village could create problems that she didn't have the time to solve, time that would only make things worse for the witcher. Luckily, some tipsy men outside the village bought her story of her uncle falling off his horse during a wolf attack and hoisted the witcher on the cart instead. They never commented on her looks, either.

She continued in a faster pace for one hour or so, before deciding that it was time to see to the witcher, the horses and herself. It's good to have friends in high places, and the newly appointed stable hand at Reardon Manor asked nothing when she reminded him that he owed her a favor. Especially since she helped his precious mare in a tough situation last summer when foaling.

She decided that the witcher was better off if he stayed in the cart than on the manure-covered stable floor, and decided to tend to his injuries as properly as she could under the circumstances. With the help of her knife, she was able to carefully cut the witcher's armour off him so that she could assess the wounds on his torso.

Gently peeking through the top of his shirt, she realised that she was impressed. The witcher apparently made it in time, applying the coagulant to the wounds on his chest. Some of the bigger gashes looked a bit harrowing, but at least they weren't bleeding. Some of them would most definitely need to be sewn together, maybe even cauterised. The smaller ones were, as far as she could tell, not that acute to tend to.

She brought a pail with her and collected some water from the well. If she cleaned him up, it would definitely be easier to see what to deal with first.

* * *

He wasn't ready, not ready at all. Come to think of it, how often is a man ready to face and acknowledge his destiny? Has it ever happened, especially without convincing?

The tone of her voice sounded of longing. Belonging. Even though he made sure that she was asleep when he mounted his horse and left, like a thief in the night, she caught up with him. She always did.

"Don't go, I'm your destiny. You won't get away!"

Don't look back. You might lock with those emerald eyes, and that will be your undoing.

"You can't run away!"

Words that he didn't want to listen to became his reality, his everything. Only to be taken away forever more.

* * *

When she returned to the stable, she shot a glance at the cart. Still unconcious. She put the pail, now filled to the brim with water, in the cart before climbing up herself.

To get the witcher's shirt off him, she needed to wet the parts that had stuck to his wounds before cutting the cloth into shreds. Good thing she had patience.

She lost track of time. Tending to wounds had that effect on her, waking an immense focus within her and rendering everything else obsolete. It seemed like the witcher had left is left side open when he encountered whatever beasts that inflicted all this damage.

"Must have been quite the barrage," she said to the witcher. "Witchers aren't the easiest prey."

When she was done with the time-consuming task of removing the witcher's shirt and getting the caked blood off his torso, she felt that her first assessment of his injuries were more than correct. Some of them were going to need more attention, but that would have to wait until she had gotten them safely to her cottage outside Toderas. In order to prevent an infection of any kind, since they were spending the night in a stable after all, she decided to dab his wounds with alcohol. She preferred Wormwood spirit, and she would never leave without a couple of flasks. For medicinal purposes, of course.

She started with the smaller wounds first. If, by any chance, he would come to. No reaction from the silver haired man. She gained a little more confidence and started to tend to the more gnarly cuts, when she noticed small ripples of movement in the witcher's shoulders.

"I'm sorry, I'll be done soon. Just a bit mo... Are you weeping? Witcher, are you awake?"

* * *

The slaughter of the royal family of Cintra. The lioness had fought the Nilfgaardian army at the very front. You know what they say of lionesses, never come between them and their cubs because they will fight to the end. Even without the prospects of winning.

The word spread quickly, there on the banks of the Yaruga. The flood of hopelessness crashed over him, again making him realise that destiny was nothing but a cruel joke of a demented jester. He had believed, if just for a second, that he actually had one.

But, oh. The emerald eyes. The feeling of longing. Belonging. It exploded within him when he enclosed her small-framed body in his arms. An immense feeling of... everything? Yes, everything at once. The cub was indeed alive, the lioness had prevailed.

"Now, we'll be together, won't we? Forever! Say it!"

"Forever, Ciri."

And yes. That's when he accepted his destiny. For in that particular moment, he was sure that their destiny was never-ending. Continuously intertwined. Nothing could ever set them free.

* * *

As the first rosy rays of sunshine peered thought the stable doors, she harnessed her gelding and bridled the mare. While coaxing the mare to accept the bit, she couldn't help herself ponder about the witcher. She was sure that he was unconcious, but still... Yes, he had definitely wept. Even though he hadn't actually shed any tears.

She gave the mare a pat on the neck and tied her to the back of the cart.

"Keep watch over your master, will you?"

Horses are wonderful creatures. Always loyal. The bay mare were a perfect example of just that. The way the horse behaved when the cart with the witcher in tow left Crookback bog, was a tell-tale sign that the mare belonged with him. Saw him as her master. Naturally, she had to come along.

The trip up to her cottage outside Toderas went smoothly. She felt a little weary after the events of the last day, but she felt strengthened by the fact that she was home. Also, it gave her a whole other opportunity to treat her mysterious patient.

After the cumbersome task of getting the witcher off the cart, inside the cottage and safely into her bed, she released the horses out in the small, enclosed patch of grass down the road. The mare, as one could expect, squealed as soon as the gelding glanced her way and was quick to swing her hind quarters, readying a kick. She smiled.

"You're no easy strumpet. Good for you."

Most of the afternoon was spent looking after the witcher. Now that she had all her medicinal herbs and gear close at hand, she felt her self-esteem coming back. She had the means to help him. And that, she would. She opened a couple of jars, standing in her kitchen, deciding what to infuse in order to create something easily swallowed but nutricious. Tending to the witcher's wounds would have to wait yet another day.

She looked out the window in the small kitchen area. The horses were apparently getting along. She noticed her gelding nipping at the flanks of the mare, who strangely enough didn't seem to mind. When she noticed the gelding collecting himself, putting more weight on his back legs, she turned around with slightly flushed cheeks.

Apparently, some urges will never be forgotten.


	3. Chapter 3

**~Velen, outside the village of Toderas~**

She had been working on the witcher's wounds since the early morn. It wasn't as easy as you might think, sewing his wounds shut. It was actually quite the challenge. Due to the witcher's many adventures, and many mishaps as she saw it, his previous scars made it close to impossible to suture him. Not enough healthy skin to put the stitches in.

Looking at his upper body, she understood why he had that many scars, some of them massive. It must have been easier as time went by just to let him heal on his own accord, keeping him confined to his bed. She started to think the exact same thing, maybe that should be her approach as well.

As she was closing up one of the smaller wounds, that luckily wasn't surrounded by scar tissue, she heard knocks on her door. Ever since the village was attacked by bandits some months back, the amount of visitors had been declining. As well as her income. But at this very moment, she felt really annoyed to actually have a visitor, rapping on her door.

"Please, mistress! Our daughter!" She heard someone calling on the other side of the door. _If she's not in the same state as the witcher, she's probably going to be fine._

After securing the suture with a knot, she stood up, stretched out her back and adjusted the cloth in front of her nose and mouth. She decided to fend of any visitors for at least some time.

She opened the door, ever so slightly, and saw a couple with their daughter, maybe nine years of age. The father's upper lip was sporting quite the moustache, the mother's eyes were captivatingly blue. The young girl, with her mousy hair hanging like a wet mop from the top of her head, snivelled and had her mouth open when she took breath. The father seemed more agitated than the mother.

"Mistress, please," the man said while grabbing the frame of the door. "Help our little Lycella!"

"Good sir," the herbalist said, "would you mind stepping back a bit?"

"Step back, why no! We must see you, our situation is dire. Can't you see that the girl is unwell?"

She opened the door, just a little bit more, to peek at the girl. She tried hard to stand in the doorway so that her visitors couldn't catch a glance at the witcher.

"Girl, how do you feel," she asked rather brusquely. Looked like the common cold, as far as she could tell.

"Mistress," the girl cawed, "I have a horrible ache in my head, my nose is running and I can barely speak."

The herbalist put her hand on her forehead. No fever. The common cold, go figure.

"Make an infusion of ginger, yarrow and honey and drink the brew liberally." She locked eyes with the mother. "She'll be better in a couple of days. Maybe you can let her rest in bed until she feels better?"

The mother smiled slightly, nodding her head. The father, on the other hand, seemed displeased with her ordination.

"But mistress, come now," he said in a somewhat raised voice. "Honey and ginger? Pfft! Surely, this is something that demands your attention!"

After debating with the father for something that felt like an eternity, she decided that she was done with convincing him that is wasn't the plague, grip, quinsy, milk fever or what-have-you. Under normal circumstances, she could definitely respect the father's diligence, but not today. She asked the mother if they needed the herbs for the infusion, while the father tried to coax the girl into admitting some strange symptoms, and went in to get them.

* * *

The anger. He wasn't the one boasting of his sexual endevours and felt cornered in having to do so. Just to prove a stupid point. Not like him.

"Last night, she made love with me and not with you."

Because they belonged together. And nothing the magician said would ever change that.

"She made love to me this morning, draw your own conclusions."

The one sentence that would render his heart defenseless. He could feel his pulse in his temples, decided to breathe slower just to get in control. Uncertainty. A feeling he wasn't really familiar with. It felt uncomfortable.

And being met by a wet kestrel, carrying a letter he didn't have to read to know its contents, sure didn't help him shake that feeling.

* * *

She glanced at the bed, where the witcher lay, on her way to the small alcove where she kept herbs and other medicinal paraphernalia that she had for sale. He seemed calm. She sighed. She didn't have the time for this. As she collected the dried ginger and reached for a small jar of honey, she heard something from the other room. A groan?

She hurriedly shot a glance at the witcher, it looked like he had tensed up. She really had to send the family outside on its way.

The father gave her a denunciative look. "So, who you got in there?".

_May the Gods have mercy._

"A patient. With... the smallpox. Yes, a tragic case, indeed."

The father was the first one to leave her yard.

* * *

She hurried back inside to check on the witcher. He didn't seem tense anymore, although his breath was slightly shallow. She leaned in a bit. Beads of sweat on his forehead.

"Don't worry. You're having a bad dream."

She put a hand on his forehead, and sure enough, a little bit warm to the touch. Time to make him comfortable.

She went to her small kitchen and fired up the stove. She put the pot on, and took the ladle out of the water pail and filled the pot with some of the water. Making sure that the water didn't come up to a boil, she decided that chamomile and elderflower would be a good choice in order to cull the fever.

After a couple of minutes, she drained the infusion into a shallow bowl, pouring it through a linen cloth. She walked carefully, not to spill the contents. She pulled her footstool closer to the bed, just within reach, and put the bowl on top of it. She placed herself on the bed, and gently put her left arm underneath the witcher's neck. Slowly pulling him slightly upwards in more of a sitting position, she then tilted his head back a bit. Definitely the easiest way of opening a patient's mouth, she reckoned.

She reached for the bowl and slowly put it to the witcher's lips, tilting it ever so slightly.

"Just a little," she said. "It shouldn't be too hot."

Most of the brew actually went in the witcher's mouth. Some trickled down his beard and got soaked into the poultice around his neck. She would have to change that once she was done. She would have to shave him, too.

She put the bowl down on the footstool and continued to sit beside the witcher. She couldn't help that she was intrigued. She had only heard of witchers before, but never actually met one. She caught herself wondering if they had easy lives, monster hunting aside. Were they appreciated? Or were they considered to be pariah?

She felt a sting of sadness. Now was not the time for that. If there ever was. Reacting in the only way she knew how, she started collecting what she needed in order to change the witcher's dressing.

* * *

Funny how it works. If you hear things just the right amount of times, from serveral different people, you'll soon consider them to be the truth. Even lies. He felt surprised when he was met with her fiery reaction. The Queen of Ice, fiery?

"I can't bear it when you use that word! Don't ever use it again in my presence! Never!"

He saw her raven locks fly as she turned around to face him. She was indeed beautiful. The words she uttered, just seconds ago, she meant them. He could see it in her eyes, those wells of neverending violet.

"Does it change the fact?" he asked her.

Deep down inside, he could feel something stirring. He knew that the way he looked at her was exactly the same as she looked at him. He didn't need her answer. He knew that she would treat the lies as lies. Soothing the feeling he had within him. Making him matter. Making him matter more.

* * *

She was slightly apprehensive to remove the poultice. Of course, if he was still bleeding, she would have noticed it by now. And he would probably have expired before they even left Downwarren. She readied herself, and started to unwind the strips of cloth that once were parts of her dress. She peered below the poultice and felt relieved. No blood started to gush once the pressure was off, a great sign. She removed the poultice, and came to the conclusion that the shave had to be done before assessing the wound.

She readied the soap, and lathered the right side of the witcher's face first. This was quite an enjoyable thing to do, too bad that he wasn't the conversational type.

She couldn't really tell what happened first. The nick or the shove. She was really surprised when she tumbled down on the floor, feeling the piercing gaze of two golden eyes.

"The medallion!"

She looked at the witcher, trying to find her composure. She failed.

"Where?!" The witcher spoke in a very gravelly, but remarkably louder voice.

She put her hands up, to calm him or to ward herself. She didn't know.

"Calm yourself, please", she said, trying the best she could to steady her voice.

Their eyes locked, just for a second. And the witcher averted his gaze.


	4. Chapter 4

**~Velen, outside the village of Toderas~**

It felt like an eternity for the both of them. Him, sitting in bed and looking down at his hands. Her, sprawled out on the floor with her eyes fixed on him. The witcher was the first one to speak.

"I'm sorry. I thought I was somewhere else." He raised his head, seeking her eyes. He couldn't really tell if she was scared or just surprised, since her eyes were the only thing he could actually see. They shone green, much like the canopies of Brokilon.

She collected herself, stood up and fetched the clog that had taken off across the room after her involuntary flight.

"I..." she started. This wasn't really what she had pictured in her mind when they would have their first official meeting. "I'm sorry, I should have been more careful. Forgive me."

The witcher started to stir.

"Please, remain where you are. Tell me what you need". She looked at him and added "You're seriously hurt. I feared for your life, I still do. So please, tell me what you need and I'll see to it." _Is he honestly trying to get out of bed?_

"I... had a medallion. Like the one I wear around my neck." The witcher paused and looked away. "Do you have it?" _Please, tell me you do._

"I'm sorry, witcher. I never saw another."

* * *

He shifted. Pulled up his legs closer to his body and put his face in his hands. He felt the feeling again, the feeling of total dispair. Second by second, it consumed him even more. It felt like drowning. Drowning from within. He couldn't draw his breath, he felt lightheaded. He felt weak.

Flashes of her and her emerald eyes. Her eyes will always be his undoing.

I don't feel a thing anymore.

When he finally let go, there was no going back. He accepted to drown.

* * *

The display shook her. She just stood there, watching. It took a while until she came back to herself, and walked toward the bed. The witcher was grief-stricken, she concluded. Not at all what she had expected.

She carefully made herself known to him by touching his arm before she sat down beside him. She wasn't going to fly across the room again, not anytime soon.

She knew this cycle all to well, and found herself strangely comfortable in dealing with sorrow and grief. She had seen it in all its constellations. Death, love lost, disappointments. The cycle always play out in the exact same way.

She put both of her hands on the witcher's arm, and dared to lean in a little. His shoulders shook uncontrollably.

"I'm so sorry." She wasn't really expecting any answers, people generally couldn't muster the strength to do so in situations like this. "It's better to let it out, witcher. Some drown their sorrows with alcohol, some seek the comfort of another's... hm, embrace, some keep it buried deep inside. But I promise you, it will pass." _It always does._

The witcher wailed into his hands. A muffled but yet intense sound. She decided to do what she always have been when encountering a person the the deepest darkness of their own. She held him until his shaking subsided.

* * *

The witcher woke the next morning. Apart from hurting due to his wounds, he felt drained. Empty. He tried to remember what had happened after he had found the medallion some days back, but realised that it was impossible. He felt his heart clench.

Trying his best to distract himself, he slowly rolled over from his back to his right side. He winced.

"Are you awake?"

The witcher turned his head toward the sound of the female voice. He couldn't see her, he guessed she was in another room.

"I'll be there in a moment. Please stay where you are."

She had a pleasant voice, the witcher thought to himself. He suddenly remembered, with a feeling that one can have when remembering a dream, that he had almost given her a wallop. He felt ashamed. He knew that he had to apologise for that.

The woman came out from a room further in. She was carrying a tray. The witcher inspected her as she came towards him. She wore a simple, lightly coloured dress. On top of it, an apron. Her hair was tied up with a headscarf, but a lock of red hair had escaped it and cascaded down the side of her face. When she came closer, he yet again noticed her green eyes. And the cloth she wore over her nose and mouth. Her clogs clipped-clopped as she stopped in front of him.

"Good to see that you're awake, witcher," she said. "I brought you some broth, if you'd like."

"Thank you," the witcher said whilst trying to sit up. He groaned slightly.

"Here, let me help you," the woman said as she hurriedly put down the tray on the footstool next to the bed. She grabbed him underneath his arms. "Ready? There," she said when the witcher was propped up in a sitting position.

She handed him the bowl with steaming broth and placed herself on the bed.

"I... I'm so sorry. I think I slapped you," the witcher said after downing a spoonful.

"No need," the woman replied in an embarrassed voice. "It was nothing more than a push. You apologised yesterday, so don't mind."

The witcher felt her gaze on him when he turned his focus on the broth. He felt a little bit bothered by it, but told himself that she probably wanted to make sure that he was doing fine.

"Thank you," he said, putting the bowl on the tray next to the bed.

She nodded. "I never got the chance yesterday, witcher. I'd like to introduce myself. I'm Lith." She extended her hand.

"Geralt. Geralt of Rivia," the witcher replied and shook her hand.

"So, now that we are aquainted, let's make something of this day, shall we?"

* * *

Lith was a really effective woman, Geralt thought to himself. After she had served him broth, she had fetched her razor and told him that it was time for a shave. Geralt opposed the idea at first, but agreed that she had a point since inspecting his wound would definitely be easier once he was clean-shaved.

"You know", Lith said after a moment's silence. "I tried to do this very thing yesterday, but I'm not sure if you were aware. I nicked you, and that's when my clogs went flying." She gave him a quick look and returned to handling the razor.

"I'm sorry, Lith," Geralt said. "Witchers have extraordinary reflexes, I'm not sure if I was even aware." _A lot of things happen by pure instinct._

"Again, Geralt. No need. Tilt your head back, please."

Geralt closed his eyes, and leaned back a little. She had soft, warm hands and was, as he already had decided for himself, very effective.

"Geralt, I'm going to shave your left side now. That's where your wound is so it's imperative that you sit still."

"Mhm," Geralt responded.

* * *

She switched sides with Geralt, walking over to the other side of the bed.

"Hold this, please." She gave him the bowl with hot water and looked at the soap suds, dancing on the surface.

She worked her way towards the wound in portions, starting with shaving Geralt's face and then continuing to the area around the wound.

"Geralt," she said and removed the razor from his neck.

"Mhm," he responded.

"What is it that you witchers do, exactly?"

"Well," Geralt said, still with his eyes closed and his head tilted back. "We hunt monsters, mostly. For coin. Sometimes, we get other contracts."

"That has nothing to do with monsters?"

"I have learned that monsters aren't always the ones with claws and fangs. But yes, one can say we get contracts without monsters too."

How right he is, she tought to himself. She returned to shaving him, getting closer to the ominous wound on his neck. After carefully maneuvering the razor around the edges of the wound, she concluded that she couldn't really go any closer. Still, it was now much easier to see the wound itself.

It looked like something had sunk its claws in the witcher's neck, and slashed away. Where the actual puncture had happened, the wound looked deep and it was discharging. She felt around the edges of the wound, and was horrified to feel something inside it.

"You felt that, right," Geralt said.

"I do. I'm not sure if I dare to take it out, though. Not to happy about leaving it there, either."

"Don't bother. It can stay where it is."

"But Geralt, some beasts have..." she started.

Geralt interrupted her "...venom sacks in their claws which could prove to be fatal if left inside the human body. Lith, I'm a witcher. I have a heightened tolerance against substances. I can deal with toxicity in a much higher degree. I'm serious, don't bother."

"I really must advise..." Lith started.

"Leave it!" Geralt grabbed her wrists and gave her a look she wouldn't dare to oppose.

"Fine," she replied and slowly pulled her wrists out of the witcher's grip.


	5. Chapter 5

**~Velen, outside the village of Toderas~**

Geralt knew that he'd crossed the line by grabbing her. He didn't really mean to, but he could imagine how Lith must have precieved the situation. That he was proud, that he was a witcher and knew better than her. How could he possibly tell her that the reason he told her not to bother with whatever that was embedded in his neck was because he just didn't care. He had ceased to matter in his own eyes. Yes, how could anyone possibly matter when one's destiny had been torn away?

He was sure that Lith had it all figured out. That he had lost something. But how could he explain to her how this loss impacted him? He wasn't even sure that he possessed words suitable. His heart cramped up, he could feel himself getting closer to the abyss. _Just take the leap._

He was torn. He could try to compose himself and save face in front of this woman who he had introduced himself to, just a few hours before. But why did the other option feel like the more reasonable thing to do? Oh, how he wanted to drown.

* * *

Lith saw the change in Geralt almost instantly. It was like he withdrew, to a place deep inside himself. Somewhere where he didn't reign.

"Geralt," she began. "I understand that you are in a lot of pain. Not physical pain. Rather, pain from the heart. Something you will have to do is to accept that you are in pain. Accept the reason causing it. Only then will you be able to heal yourself."

She seeked his eyes, her attempts were futile. She touched him slightly, like the flutter of the wings of a butterfly, on his upper arm. She could see him tense up even more. Had she ventured somewhere she shouldn't have, trying to get a hold of him and lead him out, out of himself? His outburst was expected, but not his words.

"Accept?! What the fuck do you know?!" His yellow eyes gleamed, his pupils almost impossible to see. He bared his teeth, looking almost like a reflection of his silver medallion that glistened on his bare chest. "What the fuck do you know about being left? Being treated like absolute shit? Being bereft of the outmost thing that matters, that could ever matter?! What could you possibly know?!"

Lith felt a tremble inside her chest. _No, don't... say another word._ She felt bombarded by his words, so full of dispair. It was like her secret place, where she had everything locked away for no one to see, got pried open. His words were like projectiles with no intent of missing. _If he utters another word, I... will be helpless._

* * *

Geralt panted. The thunderous wave was closing in. Time to drown. The room was totally out of focus, maybe due to tears or the eruption of emotions. It felt like the desperation on the battlefield, when all is lost but one must attempt one final attack to down the opponent. He felt sick. The desperation within him grew, clawing at him, wanting him to succumb.

"Tell me, Lith!" Why did her name sound like a curse word? "What can possibly justify anything that comes out of your mouth?!" He tried to find her gaze, and got furious when he saw her showing all the signs of turning away from him. "I'm talking to you! Open your goddamn mouth and ANSWER!"

* * *

He broke through. Lith felt violated, his words shook her down to her core. It was almost like she was a member of an audience, saw herself and the witcher like actors in tragic play with no possibility to interfere. She stood up and staggered, away from him. It was like she had been struck with everything the witcher could have possibly mustered.

In a swift motion, so swift that she barely registered doing it, she ripped off the cloth covering her face. She turned to face Geralt, her forest green eyes overflowing with tears. Strangely, she couldn't notice a reaction on his face.

"Look," she screamed with a voice that sounded like she was underwater. "I know everything about being a part of the downtrodden. I know what it's like being treated like shit! Being left! Witcher, I know it oh so well!"

She furiously wiped the tears from her eyes, jerking her head back up like a whip. Her headscarf came undone, her hair fell to her shoulders like a tousled cascade of a river red with blood.

"I know," she said with a voice full of emotion, now bordering on anger, "what it's like being left. Look at me! The first hours of my life were spent naked in the woods, an easy prey for the wolves. My life should have ended there, but destiny wanted to meddle!"

She filled her lungs anew.

"Destiny wanted to meddle, and made me spend the first thirteen years of my life being worth nothing. I've been beaten, spat on, ignored. All at the grace of my so-called benefactors. But you know what hurt me the most, since I first bled, since I became a woman? Nilfgaardian stragglers, drunkards, town idiots, prince charmings or what poor excuse of the stronger sex destiny sent my way... no one would fucking touch me! I've seen how they rape and pillage. I've seen the primal animal in men. But when they see me, they shudder! Their cocks go limp, and they leave me on the ground with all the blood, shit and piss! I'm not even worth being raped!"

* * *

Her last sentence lingered in the room. It was like it was ringing, making soundwaves and echoing into infinity. Not being worthy of the outmost horrors mankind can come up with, it said a lot. About how she perceived herself, her longing to fit in. How different she felt. How insignificant she considered herself to be.

Geralt understood her now. Understood her pain. They were very much alike. Being left as babes, being spat on as teenagers, being considered to be the lowest of the low as adults... But, although his eyes were a tell-tale sign that he indeed was different, even thinking about comparing their appearance to what Lith now had shown him about herself would be the greatest insult he could ever think of.

He had seen only a few with the same atrocious deformity, but so far all of them had been men. The Aen Seidhe had a word for it, roughly translated it meant 'kissed by lightning'. The way a tree splits when being struck by a bolt. Only, this was a human face he was looking at, and not a tree.

Even though the pain rendered him dizzy, he stood up. For modesty, he reached for and covered himself with the thick woolen blanket from the bed. He noticed that she was crying. _Please, don't._ Flashes of black locks, captivating violet eyes and a deformed body appeared before his inner eye, saddening him immensly. _Why couldn't you have been born a sorceress?_

He feebly walked towards her, every step an enormous effort. Standing in front of her, watching her almost billowing shoulders from above, he felt the warmth of her body. Only a foot apart.

_Maybe I can mend her, make her feel like she's worth something. A small distraction from all this hurt. It doesn't have to mean anything else._

He put his hands on her arms, slowly tracing them upwards toward her shoulders. He gave them a little squeeze. She felt soft. She jolted in response. _She's not used to being touched. Not like this._

* * *

She wanted him to leave. Now that he had successfully broken her, he had no right to stay. In what way was he different than other men that had crumbled her defenses and prevailed in making her belive something untrue? Sure, his modus operandi was something she wasn't used to but he had indeed set her up, like a doe waiting to be pierced by the huntman's arrow.

She felt his hands on her, a tingling feeling followed his strokes. She felt repulsed, and bent her head down even deeper so that her chin touched her chest.

_Don't do this to me. It's not what you really want, and you know it. I don't need your mercy._

She felt like a little, scared girl. Like a little girl being told that there's nothing more important than her, only to be ridiculed with laughs and harsh words when she believed the notion. She was sick of people telling 'jokes'. But she fell for them, time and time again. Fact is, there's no place for her in this world. She will never matter.

She desperately tried to avoid him, his eyes, without moving herself one bit. She fought to close herself with the small means she had. She felt him tipping her head back with a gentle hand underneath her chin, and answered by closing her eyes. She felt like Geralt's actions were all a part of some bloody game, so why give him the satisfaction of winning? He was nothing in her eyes. Just a stupid, yellow-eyed mutant.

_I'm going to tell him. I want him gone._


	6. Chapter 6

**~Velen, outside the village of Toderas~**

Lith turned her head, easing out of the grip Geralt had of her chin. Through wet and heavy lashes, she glanced at him. His yellow eyes were fixated on her, she almost felt uncomfortable. And definitely out of words.

Without thinking, she fell into him. Her cheek to his chest. Listening to his heartbeats. The steady rythm, oh so reassuring. Why did his embrace empower her? Why did he make her feel safe? He who had torn down her defenses? He who she desperately wanted gone, just a second ago?

After a moment, it could have been anything from a minute to a lifetime, she left his arms. She pulled back, just a little, but enough for him to let go. The look he gave her was one she couldn't read. Sad, maybe? Or indifferent?

She walked past him and sat down on the bed. She absent-mindedly wrung the cloth she had worn over her nose and mouth between her hands. She couldn't make sense of her inner struggle.

* * *

The draft she made when she walked past him smelled of nature. Earth, herbs and the way clothes smell after a day out to dry in the sun. She was so ingenuous in everything she did, Geralt thought. Her scent matching her personality.

He respected her for listening to herself. The last thing he wanted to do was to make her act on emotions and not sense, and he would never force himself on her or any woman. However, he felt a bit ashamed for touching her. He had definitely played a part in her feeling uneasy. How stupid.

Geralt lingered a little before turning around and slowly returning to the bed. Lith moved over slightly, making it easier for him to lie down. He put a hand on her back. Feeling her ribcage expand slightly with every breath. It felt good.

"Lith? Can I ask you a favor?"

He saw the back of her head nod.

"Did you see my horse when you found me? A bay mare. Was she alive?"

Barely audible, she responded. "Yes. She's in the field with my gelding."

"I have a small wooden box in one of the saddlebags. Would you mind getting it for me?"

Without a word, she stood up and left.

* * *

Lith closed the door to her cottage behind her, lingering a bit with her hand on the door handle. What had played out between herself and the witcher just moments before was something she couldn't understand. It was new to her, that kind of interaction between a man and a woman. She had been hurt, but the hurt was somewhat dampened while being in his embrace. Somewhere inside, she still wanted him gone, but the need for his contact felt even more pressing.

She walked the few yards down to the field where the horses grazed. She had kept the few items Geralt had with him or on his horse in a small shack, just outside the enclosure. She entered and went straight to the bale of straw, on which she had put the saddle and the bridle. The saddlebags were still attached to the saddle, since she had been in a hurry when she untacked Geralt's mare. She looked through the saddlebags and sure enough, a wooden box could be seen at the bottom underneath some clothing. She lifted it out, heard a slight clinking sound as she did.

Just to sate her curiosity, she opened the lid carefully. Vials and beakers with different substances were neatly organised inside. Small bags of cloth containing different granulates, too. She thought back to when she had found the witcher, and the vial he was holding in his hand. _A witcher can never be unprepared._

She definitely wanted a bit of the knowledge this box brought with it, and decided to try and ask Geralt about it once back in the cottage. She closed the lid and secured it, trying to make sure that no evidence of her peeking inside could be spotted.

The day had started to come to an end and as she walked up the road back to her cottage, she wondered what to make for supper.

* * *

Geralt had heard Lith from a distance and knew that she had been curious. He couldn't really blame her. It's not often witchers were in the care of common folk, and he realised that the rumors and myths regarding witchers would make anyone curious. Especially when having something like a box full of strange witcher substances readily available.

"No problems finding it," Geralt asked Lith as she closed the door behind her. She shook her head in response, locks of red hair dancing. She handed him the box, her hand slightly brushing against his as he reached out to take it. He could tell that she was affected by him. The touch made her heart beat slightly faster, no secret to his acute sense of hearing.

"Thank you, Lith."

He looked at her as she was standing before him. He knew that they would have to say something in regard to the emotional display they both had taken a part in. Not just the upset emotions, the other ones as well. He just didn't know how to start. All he could come up with were the standard pleasantries.

He put down the box next to him on the bed, and reached out for her hand. He became surprised when she responded by holding his. Her hand felt warm, feminine. He gave it a gentle squeeze, and she responded by sitting down next to him.

Sometimes, silence speaks louder than words.

* * *

They had supper. It was a lovely meal, simple, but well-prepared. A chicken with parsnips, kohlrabi and carrots that had been baking in the oven. Geralt mopped up the juices of the chicken with a piece of bread, his plate being meticulously cleaned when he was done. He gave Lith a nod when she extended her hands to relieve him from his plate.

He watched her walking to her little kitchen, listening to the sound of her putting the dishes away. This silence was horribly awkward.

"Lith," Geralt said with a pause, waiting for her to answer.

"Yes?" Her voice sounded small.

"Come, I want to show you something."

He had decided that, although not in line with the witcher way of doing things, he would repay her for her trouble. What could be more interesting for a herbalist dabbling in the medicinal arts than learning just one very potent witcher secret?

He reached for the small box, his ultimate life line on the road, slowly picking out vials and bags in preparation. He had decided to show her how to make a powerful pain remedy. _Might as well kill two birds with one stone._

When she returned to the main room, he watched her reaction closely. He knew instantly that she was very intrigued. Although she had put on her face cloth yet again, her eyes were very expressive and inquisitive. Geralt felt slightly satisfied to see that change in her.

"Are you certain, Geralt," Lith asked him with a hesitant tone in her voice. She apparently knew that witchers had knowledge not often shared with anyone outside the witcher schools.

"Mhm. This is a powerful potion that numbs the user's pain very effectively. It's dangerous in more concentrated doses since it blocks the nervous system and can affect the brain as a result, but I'm going to show you the base and add more components afterwards. But that's something you cannot do if you're treating a person, understand?" _It's just for me._

"You are in pain?"

_She's smart._ "A little," Geralt nodded. "Watch closely."

Lith turned out to be a very attentive student. As Geralt explained the steps, she listened carefully, only asking about the different components and if there were any possible substitutes.

"So," Geralt continued, "that's the base. It's more potent if you heat it up slightly, but that's usually a luxury. For witchers in the heat of battle, at least. You got it?"

Lith nodded.

"That being said, maybe you could heat it up for me? Not up to a boil, but significantly above luke warm?"

"Absolutely!" Lith's voice sounded a bit cheery. She's a person who's hungry for knowledge, Geralt concluded.

* * *

Lith took the small beaker Geralt had used for the finished brew and went to the fireplace. She felt excited, giddy even. To be taught secrets from a witcher... She felt strangely thankful. And trusted.

She held the vial above the fire and removed it as soon as she saw small veils of vapor emerging from its opening. The smell was definitely something else. Pungent.

She returned to the bed and handed Geralt the beaker. She saw him adding something he had been holding in his hand. It was apparent that whatever that ingredient was, it was not something he wanted her to have a knowledge of.

She watched him down the brew after a slow shake of the beaker. She thought her eyes were playing tricks on her at first, but it looked like the blood vessels on Geralt's body turned dark purple. When she realised that it was in fact true, she gasped slightly.

"Don't be alarmed," Geralt said. "This is why people can't drink witchers' potions, Lith."

She watched in amazement, and with horror, how the discolouration started from his abdomen and spread with a pulsation fashion to his limbs, neck and face. She noticed Geralt gritting his teeth and she suddenly felt uneasy.

"Geralt?"

She watched him. He breathed faster. His eyes were narrowing. It looked like he was in pain, strangely enough. Odd of a potion with a totally different desired effect.

"Geralt, you're making me worried!"

"I'm fine, Lith," Geralt said between breaths. "It's having its effect, that's all".

Lith sat down beside him. She couldn't really understand why, but she reached for his hand and held it. To comfort herself, or to ease him? She didn't know. It was like a reflex. She tried to make contact with his eyes, but it was like he was too concentrated with keeping in control.

Not until she felt his hand on her cheek, she relaxed.


	7. Chapter 7

**~Velen, outside the village of Toderas~**

Lith had been at Geralt's side until he fell asleep, which was shortly after he had consumed the brew he made. He was worn out, his body took all the chances it could get to mend itself in the best way possible - with sleep. She couldn't help but wonder how such potions affected the body of the witcher in the long run. After Geralt's painful display, she understood that the potions were a synonym of the witcher's way of life in general. Always walking on the edge. A struggle between what's good and what's right.

She couldn't sleep. She twisted, rolled around and turned over time and time again on the hay-filled mattress on the floor in the small herb-smelling alcove. Wee hours or not, her mind was racing and wouldn't let her get any peace.

She had revealed her inner, and outer, secrets to Geralt. She remembered feeling cornered at the time, not having any possibility to stay guarded. That feeling of resentment towards him was gone. She pondered for a moment. Yes, it was. Definitely. It was now substituted with something else. She tought it was a feeling of mutual understanding, and something reminding her of respect but not quite.

She found herself coming back to him standing close to her. Him touching her and that tingling sensation that followed. Her being so close to him that she could hear his heart beat. Furtive touches that made her react in ways she couldn't handle or understand.

She sat up. Her heart was beating hard. She couldn't get the sensation of him out of her mind. Being the rational person that she was, she tried remembering what she thought when he had touched her when she had been vulnerable and raw with emotions. _What if he actually wanted... me? I don't need his mercy but... I want it. Oh, how I want it._

* * *

She stood next to the side of the bed, watched him sleep. He looked masculine but at the same time, very, very frail. Maybe it was his shallow breaths, the wounds on his already damaged body, or the irritated veins that still covered most of him. No. It was because of the darkness within him, the darkness he sought but desperately tried to repel.

She suddenly felt stupid, gawking over a sleeping, wounded man. A patient no less. She felt torn. _Either return to bed or just... well..._

Lith had no problem finding room next to him, since he was sleeping on the far left side. She ended up on her side, with her back turned to him. Her heart was beating so hard, that it almost hurt. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, but she felt to afraid to sniffle or make any sound what so ever. _Why cry now?_ She knew why, but wouldn't let the thought claim any more room in her mind. In a strange attempt to calm herself, she moved a little to her left. Just enough to feel his body heat on her back through her nightdress.

Strangely, that felt just right.

* * *

Of course, Geralt had noticed that Lith was there. He had been woken up when she laid down beside him, which in all honesty was quite the surprise. After the day's emotional display from the both of them, finding Lith next to him in bed would be as unlikely as succeeding in teaching a troll how to do the Bassedanse.

Geralt decided not to say anything, since that would probably embarrass her immensely. He decided that she had enough with making sense of herself and him. He peered down on her over his shoulder, being careful not to move and alert her of that he now was awake. She had her back to him, and she was indeed so close she could possibly be without touching him. _Enough of this. She wants to be close._

He lifted up the blanket covering him, sharing it with her. A shadow of a smile played on his lips when she yelped in response. He decided to close the minimal space between them and felt her back against his right side. _It's your move now. Tell me what you want._

* * *

She had been absolutely terrified when she had reaslised that the witcher was indeed awake. She felt Geralt close, not knowing how to respond to him and his actions. She remained on her side, feeling mortified. Why did she put herself in such a compromising situation? She wanted the moment's folly to be undone. And, hard as it was to acknowledge, she was scared. She had ventured into a place she knew nothing of, she wasn't in control. And control had always been her primary source of solace.

She tried to calm herself by breathing slower. Strangely enough, she fell in tune with Geralt's seemingly undismayed breaths and felt slightly more at ease. She stayed in the moment for a while, trying to get her wits about her. She found herself analysing the witcher's actions, but realised that she couldn't make sense of this chapter of human interaction. It was new to her.

She rolled over to her back, feeling awkward as she did. Geralt remained still on his back, but she couldn't for the life of her dare to look at his face. She studied the ceiling instead. The feeling of his expanding ribcage intruding her space was intoxicating. Finally, she dared to speak.

"I...," she started. _How awkward is this?!_ "I... I mean, may I touch you?"

She felt her cheeks heat up like a hearth, and again, her heart started to race.

She wasn't really sure, but it sounded like the witcher made a cooing kind of laugh. Just for a second. She felt even more insecure. _Am I doing this wrong?_

"Yes," Geralt responded. She swore that she could hear him smile. _He must find me so pathetically amusing._

She resumed studying the ceiling, with her cheeks ablaze.

* * *

She was endearing. Geralt had met quite a few women over the years, but none quite like her. He found himself entertained by her coy and awkward way of presenting herself. It was blatantly apparent that she wasn't used to being touched, and to claim that she was used to even playing with the thought of actually being with a man would be a lie like no other. _So unspoilt._

He decided to give her a push in the right direction. It was not entirely selfish, he concluded, to pull her close. _He_ felt good having her next to him. _She_ needed him to advance. _Just to pull her close, nothing more._

He propped himself up, pleased that the effects of potion still culled the pain somewhat, and gently guided her so she rested her cheek on his chest. He dared to put his arm around her too. She stiffened up, he noticed, and decided that he couldn't be more in charge than this for the time being. _What will you do, little hare?_

He watched her hair fall down over his hand, some of the strands annoyingly tickling. Smelled her. Still that calming smell of nature. Yes, nature in all its innocence. Nature, who rebuilds and claims what she wants, if just given the time. Nature, that conquers all.

He could feel her heart beat, almost fluttering. Like a bird. Like a swallow. _Shit._ Thoughts of his lost purpose had started to enter his mind. He wasn't sure if he could resist them.

* * *

Lith felt his grip around her shoulder ease up, from holding her close to just being there. As she listened to his life's rythm, the steady beats within him, she noticed an irregularity. Geralt started to stir underneath her, raising his left arm towards his face while still holding his right around her.

She shifted to peek at him, saw him bury his face in his hand. As if a hand is a barrier that can block tears. She knew from experience that such attempts were nothing but futile. _Everything that's lost is calling him. Reminding him that he's not ready to accept it._

She lowered her gaze again, resuming the position she had before. His chest was vibrating, his heart trying to beat at a steady pace but failing. His sadness took her in its grasp as well. Or rather, his sadness made her come to the realisation that she would never have such an impact on anyone.

She put one hand on the side of his chest. He answered by releasing her, covering his face with both hands. _How I wish I could make someone feel this way. Just once._

"If you want to let go," Lith was rocked by the witcher's silent sobs underneath her, "I'll be here to catch you."

* * *

Geralt revelled the sense of falling under, drowning in the massive wave of sadness that was starting to crush him. It was strangely satisfying to let go, let the hurt, pain, sadness, anger and feelings of inadequacy just tear him to pieces. A suitable punishment for someone so unable to protect what matters the most.

His throat closed, his body automatically fought him to start drawing breaths. Desperately wanting him to fill his lungs, to keep on living with the hurt. To keep on living without his Source.

Geralt somehow found his way to the surface, even though his mind wanted to linger in the depths. Desperately breathing, he clutched Lith in his arms. Like she was a piece of driftwood, and letting her go would make him disappear in the neverending darkness. He clawed, gripped and tugged, trying his best to make her anchor him. Trying to rid him of the depths claiming him. His mind and body in a struggle for supremacy.

Not until he felt her embrace him, did his hopelessness subside.

* * *

Lith wasn't at all prepared to be engulfed in the witcher's despair. When Geralt had reached for her, clambering one might say, he had hurt her. He had her pinned down in a tragic embrace, like he needed something to remind him that he still was alive.

She could feel his hard breaths sweep across the side of her face, continuous huffs leaving her face warm and wet. His loose hair stuck to her moist cheek. She didn't dare to speak, the memory of his anger and her sadness from before still fresh and raw. Instead, she put her arms around him, pulled him close and held him as hard as she possibly could.

It seemed like it calmed him. His reaction to her embrace was just like watching a violent storm, one that shakes up heaven and earth, pass by as quickly as it came. She continued to hold him, feeling his breathing slow down against her cheek. Feeling the pounding inside his chest return to the steady pace she found so calming.

She was the first one to let go, being quick to cover her face with her hand as she did.


	8. Chapter 8

**~Velen, outside the village of Toderas~**

Lith kept one hand in front of her mouth and gave Geralt a little push with the other, as to encourage him to move. She found him heavy, and it was slightly uncomfortable having his entire weight on top of her.

She felt him release his embrace, and heard him groan slightly as he turned to lie on his side, away from her. She moved a bit and squeezed his shoulder to make him lie on his back instead.

"Geralt, come," she encouraged him. She wasn't comfortable with him being on his side, considering his physical status. She was afraid that he would accidentally provoke his wounds, some of them still jarringly raw, to start bleeding.

The witcher obliged, and turned so that he rested on his back. He looked distraught, and it was apparent that he was occupied with sorting things, making sense.

She let out a little sigh. Still making sure that her face was well covered by one hand, she put her other one on his cheek. She wanted to make sure that he was with her before she left for her meagre excuse of a bed. She realised that she was drained, and that she found it harder and harder to harbor her reactions to his emotions.

They caught each other's eyes. It was hard for her to fully see them in the dark, but she could just about see their amber colour. She felt the connection, it seemed like Geralt was back with her and not inside himself for the time being.

"Will you be alright tonight," she asked him. She knew that if he said no, she would remain awake at his side. Putting her own needs in second place. Like always.

She braced herself when she saw Geralt reach for her hand, the one she used as a shield to spare him of her appearance.

"No, please," she whispered. She stopped his hand with her own, shaking her head slightly.

"In that case," the witcher said in a broken voice, "stay here tonight."

* * *

Geralt was relieved that she approved. He wouldn't have tried to convince her if she had returned to her small corner, even though probably would have felt the impulse to do so. He found it strange that he felt more at ease with her around, he was usually stoic in that regard.

Without hesitation, Lith had gotten into bed, promptly on her side with her back to him. He felt a sting of anger. _Fuck the people convincing her that she should be ashamed of herself and show them the respect they obviously never returned. Who knows what people have said to her in order to kill her feeling of self-worth. Although I can imagine._

"Geralt?"

Her voice made him return to the here and now. Her voice with that little lisp, it gave her character.

"Mhm?"

"Would you mind, um... holding me? Just for a moment until I fall asleep?"

There was no need for her to ask him twice.

* * *

The rain made a soothing sound when hitting the sills and shutters of the windows. It was a really nice sound to wake up to. Slightly intrusive, but in a way that brings a person out of sleep in a gentle fashion. Like a mother's hand, rocking you back and forth whilst softly calling your name.

As Geralt was brought out of his dreamless sleep, with the help of the mellow hiss of the rain, he felt his entire body ache. He knew the feeling all too well, having spent decades being on The Path. The Path was a cruel mistress, bringing forth situations that more often than not made witchers wish they could pursue another occupation.

Geralt shifted a bit, hoping to find a more comfortable position but to no avail. He felt his left side being stiff and immobile, a tell-tale sign of bruises and swelling. He couldn't be bothered to look.

"Lith?" Geralt called out to his caretaker.

No answer.

He remembered the events that took place in the wee hours. A small smile played on his lips when he thought of Lith. He honestly thought that she was... yes, entertaining. Considering what women he usually fraternised with, Lith was a totally different kind. Most of the women he came across were self-confident, experienced and hungry. He liked them that way, it made it easier. For both parties.

Lith, on the other hand, was as far from self-confident and experienced as a woman could be. Geralt respected that. And he understood why, although he found it cruel. However, there was a hunger inside her. A hunger she apparently didn't know how to sate. And that was something he found even more entertaining.

He looked to his right. Something placed to the footstool next to the bed caught his eye, filled him with gratitude. Of course. What else could one expect? Seemed like Lith had been making sure that everything he could possibly need during her absence was just within an arm's length.

He knew that life in Velen was hard, especially after the war, which made Lith's efforts worth so much more. Geralt reached for the plate. Even though times were hard, she had apparently gone out of her way to offer him enough to keep him fed until she came back.

Geralt started on the cured ham, continued with some of the sausage links, cut himself a large peice of cheese and ended this breakfast with some of the dried berries. Geralt let out a sound of appreciation. He decided that he had to compensate Lith thoroughly for all her trouble.

* * *

He awoke to the sound of horses neighing outside. He could hear Lith's voice over the hissing rain, scolding her horse for being too impatient and not standing still while she removed its tack. Her steps back up to the cottage were fast, she was trying to get out of the rain.

Geralt saw her pass by outside the window, and listened to her trying to open the door in the most soundless way she could. As soon as he saw her through the opening, he noticed that the first thing she did was looking at his direction. _Always taking care of others._

"Oh, I hope I didn't wake you," she excused herself with an embarrassed look. "The weather is horrible!"

She pulled a high-backed chair up to the hearth and hung her hooded cloak over it to dry. Geralt saw her carrying a basket and a satchel, she had apparently done some errands while she was away.

"No, you didn't," Geralt replied. He looked at her, her hair damp and her simple dress muddy and wet. "Thank you, by the way. Lovely meal."

"Think nothing of it," she said in a way that hinted a smile underneath that cover of hers whilst heading towards the kitchen. "I'll be right with you, Geralt. I just need to put some things away, and change my clothes. It would be impractical if we both became unwell."

He listened to her removing things from her basket, arranging them somehow, before she came back and opened a chest at the foot of the bed. She rummaged around and pulled out another dress, almost identical to the one she was wearing. She gave him a coy look, and returned to her space of the cottage.

Geralt heard her wet dress fall to the floor with a slosh, followed by the rustling sound of her getting into the dry one. She emerged anew, holding the wet garment in front of her as she walked over to the chair in front of the hearth.

"How are you, Geralt? Do you need something," she asked over her shoulder.

"No. I'm fine, Lith"

"Good. You know, I want to take a look at you again. Just need to assess your wounds. I've bought some dressing too, so... What?"

"Nothing," Geralt replied. He must have given her a look or something, he wasn't sure. "You don't have to fuss, not for my sake."

Lith turned around. He could tell that she was indeed smiling, her eyes narrowed in a special way when she did.

"I'm not fussing," she laughed. "Just trying to make you as comfortable as you can be."

She walked towards the bed and sat down next to him. Geralt felt her mild scent being diluted by mud, wet horse and tobacco. He perferred her smelling of sun-warm clothes, earth and dried herbs.

* * *

Lith managed to do a quick assessment as soon as she sat down next to Geralt. He was now badly bruised, and she could easily spot that his entire left arm and shoulder had swelled quite a bit. She saw swelling of the pectoral muscle too, but that's just about all she could see since Geralt was covered with the blanket.

"You must be stiff as a board looking like that. You need something for the pain?"

"No, I'll make do."

She shook her head. _Stubborn, but why? Ah, I see. The pain is how he copes for now. It keeps him focused. Or occupied, rather._

"Well, if you say so. But, Geralt? I hope you can tell me when you need something. I'll gladly help you if you want to make something of your own, if you think my herbs won't be enough. Just ask me, please?"

She gave him a look as to show him that she meant every word. She saw the witcher nod. As good an answer as any.

"Good. Now, I think you need a wash. I'll go and heat some water."


	9. Chapter 9

**~Velen, outside the village of Toderas~**

It was quite the laborious task for Geralt to get out of bed. The bruising and swelling of the entire left side of his torso made him weaker than he'd been the days before, and the pain that followed almost made him buckle at the knees. Lith had tried to put a stop to the endeavor, and had told him time and time again to remain in bed. She could always change the wet linens afterwards. Geralt wouldn't listen, though.

With the help of Lith, he made it to the stool in front of the hearth. Lith had told him that him being in a tub would most definitely lead to infections, a sentiment he could only agree to. Without a word, she handed him a cloth to cover himself with and tried the best she could to not keep him up for too long.

Geralt had several pleasant memories of being washed by women, this turned out to be one that he wouldn't add to the plethora. Lith tried to make it a comfortable experience, though, using the wash cloth as gently as she could over his screaming muscles.

"Geralt," she asked when trying to wash his left side, "would it be wrong of me to ask about you? About witchers?"

Geralt hissed between his teeth, his latissimus dorsi being provoked by the herbalist's gentle touch. "No, go ahead. Don't know if I can answer all your questions, though."

"I see... Um, so... What is the origin of witchers?"

"The origin? Well, as far as I've been told, witchers were helpful to the humans coming to this world. Someone had to clear the way for the humans, there were more monsters back then that needed to be disposed of."

"Oh? But what about the elves and the dwarves? They lived here too at the time, weren't they?"

"Mhm. Even before the humans. Somehow, elves and dwarves tend to cope with nature in a way humans can't. Humans have difficulties accepting aggravating circumstances, monsters being one. Therefore, witchers had no problems making a living."

"It's harder now for you? For witchers, I mean?"

"Yes. Humans have almost eradicated monsters as a threat to them, I'd say."

"Is that why witchers end up doing other tasks? I remember you said something before about you getting other contracts?"

"Mhm, that's right."

"Brace yourself," Lith said as she lifted Geralt's left arm to get access to his armpit.

"Fuck," Geralt exclaimed, being surprised by the pain. "Hold on!"

"I'm sorry, Geralt. We'll pause for now," Lith said apologetically, letting his arm rest on her.

Geralt noticed, once the pain had ebbed away, that his arm was between her shapely...

"Ready? Breathe out, now," Lith said calmly as she lowered Geralt's arm.

Geralt couldn't do anything else than abandoning the thought.

* * *

"So, the one thing I've heard about witchers are the way you get paid when there are no rewards to be given. Something about surprises?"

"Lith," Geralt said, being relieved that she was done with his left side, "that's something I won't discuss with you. Don't mention it again." _My Surprise..._

Lith stood behind him, washing the right side of his back. She inhaled sharply, stopped for a second, then resumed. His tone had been too sharp, he realised. "I'm sorry," he added. "I just can't."

"Then don't. About you, then, Geralt. How..." she paused for a while. "How old are you?"

"I'm getting close to a century."

"What?!" Such disbelief in her voice.

"Witchers, if they are allowed, can live longer than the ordinary human. I don't know if that is to be considered lucky. To me, it sometimes feels like a curse." He sighed.

"The things you must have seen," Lith said in a awe-stricken fashion.

Geralt was waiting for her reaction. He wanted to see her eyes when she understood that she'd been sleeping next to a man, probably thrice her age. It was exactly as he predicted, when he turned around slightly to glance at her. Lith stayed silent, and he could see the light complexion around her eyes and forehead turn slightly pink. Her eyes, on the other hand, looked abashed. And scared.

Geralt turned forward again. It had been silent for a while when he asked, "Are we done?"

Lith seemed to have disappeared in thought, his voice jerking her back.

"No, I... I... I feel so ashamed. Ashamed, Geralt!" Her voice trembled a little. It was obvious that she felt other things too. More complicated things.

"Don't. You shouldn't. You should never feel ashamed of what you are or your desires. Trust me on this, Lith. If you do, you're in for a lifetime of resentment. A lifetime is a long time. Even for you."

He heard a stifled sob behind him. He turned around, completely this time. He felt like an ass for not considering her feelings. _You could have said something like... I don't know, fifty?_ He knew that she would end up being embarrassed, but sad? He reached for her, with some difficulty, gave her hip a little squeeze.

"Forgive me, Lith. I've been unfair to you. I'm sorry." He reached up and touched her elbow, both of her hands were covering her face.

"No," he could hear her say. Her voice slightly muffled behind her hands. "No apologies. None."

She didn't resist when he took hold of her arm, uncurled it and held her hand.

* * *

Lith finished washing Geralt in silence. She felt, again, like a little scared girl. Someone who people love making fun of. Always on her expense.

She swallowed. She decided to try and pretend that she wasn't hurt, pretend like everything was like it was before. _Almost a century? No wonder he finds me amusing. Say something he hasn't seen, say something he hasn't tried?_

"Your hair?" She decided to pretend that it all had passed.

"Hair? What hair," the witcher replied. He had been deep in thought since he apologised. She adored him for doing so, apologising. A trait most people lacked. It made her feel a little bit better.

"Yes, hair. Your hair. It needs a wash too. You still have blood caked everywhere, we can't have that."

She went to heat up some more water. While waiting for the water, she found another bar of tallow soap, something that smelled more manly. Hints of tar, leather and just a small swiff of magnolia. _Perfect for him._

She returned with the water and the soap, and waited a bit for the water to cool off some. She used a ladle to dampen the witcher's hair, asked him to lean his head back so that the excess water could be caught in the pail.

"Geralt?" Her heart was beating hard inside her chest. She felt embarrassed, but she wanted to know.

"Mhm?"

"Are you involved with someone?" Her cheeks heated up. In what way could this possibly be any of her business? Sod it, she had to know.

"No. Not anymore. I have been, though."

"Was she... beautiful?" The question hurt her. She already knew the answer.

"Yes. And no. She had some help on the way, let's just leave it at that."

"Did you love her?" She noticed that she was holding her breath.

"If I loved her?" The witcher paused for a suspicious amount of time, Lith thought. "Yes. Yes, I loved her."

"Is she alive?"

"Yes."

"Is she the one who... ah, nevermind."

"If you're wondering if she's the reason I'm with you, then no. We have a complicated relationship, she and I. We're too alike. And too different, but no. She's not the reason."

The witcher disappeared in thought for a while. Maybe as a reaction to her massaging his scalp. She was making sure that every last strand of hair was lathered up.

Lith dared to ask yet another question.

"Do you have any children, Geralt?"

"No." The tone of his voice surprised her. Sharp, and slightly emotional.

"No?"

"No. Witchers are sterile, Lith." He sounded cold. This was forbidden territory, she tought.

"Oh..." Maybe she had asked something she shouldn't have? "I'm sorry. I did not know. Head back, please." _Wonder if he ever wanted any?_

She used the ladle again to rinse the lather out of the witcher's hair, collecting the water in the pail.

"Wait, Geralt. I'm going to find a cloth to dry your hair with."

She went over to the chest again, found something suitable to dry the witcher off with and returned to the hearth.

* * *

The question stuck. _Do you have children, Geralt?_ He wasn't ready to talk about her. About Ciri. Although he never sired any children, he had considered her to be his own. The emerald eyes, the ashen hair. The fire within her, the stubbornness. He remembered how they crossed the paths of each other, him and his Child Surprise. How the tiny voice had screamed that she was his destiny, when he had cowardly tried to feint it. How he had tried to fight it. But she came back to him. They crossed paths again and again, until he accepted it. Accepted destiny. The one thing that never was supposed to exist. Not for a witcher, at least.

He felt a small pat on his shoulder. He got pulled back, out of his reverie.

"There, Geralt. Let's get you to bed and I'll see to your wounds."

Geralt got help from Lith to return to the bed. Again, his knees almost buckled due to the pain. She was there to keep him up, trying hard to keep him upright.

He felt absent when Lith methodically went over every scar, gash, cut, jack and wound on his body. He knew that she spoke to him, several times even. He couldn't remember what she said or what he'd answered. It seemed as if Lith had decided that some of the wounds were worth dressing, which she did with things she picked out of her satchel. Other wounds, the bigger ones, were still left untouched. They had to heal a bit more on their own accord.

"Is it all right with you, Geralt?"

Again, he got pulled back to the here and now.

"What?" He felt silly, drifting away like that.

"The thing in your neck. Do I have your blessing in trying to extract it? I think it has moved a bit, it's farther from the entrance wound now. Leaving it there makes me uneasy. It's seeping too."

Geralt knew that she, again, would be disappointed.

"No. Leave it, Lith. It won't make any difference to me so just leave it."

Yes. He could tell that she was disappointed in him. He knew why, too. If she was to go through all the trouble finding him, transporting him across that godforsaken bog and bringing him back to health, of course she would like to know that she had minimised every potential danger to his health? Him denying her that must make her feel like he's one ungrateful piece of shit.

In all honesty, he wasn't entirely sure that he was grateful. True, in this little world made up by her cottage, her care and her closeness, he was indeed thankful. But out there... he knew that it would be a whole other story. He knew that he would wish for something else than her closeness and care, something that would make her efforts moot. So, maybe he was ungrateful, after all, not relishing what she so badly wanted for him?

He knew what he wished for, indeed. For the giant wave to find him, make him feel the pain he so rightly deserved.


	10. Chapter 10

**~Velen, outside the village of Toderas~**

Lith stared at Geralt. She knew that it had to be said, eventually, so... why not now?

"Geralt. I know, I understand. But having that... thing, whatever it is inside your neck, so close to important bloodvessels is downright stupid. Not to mention what happens if it is indeed something poisonous." She was preparing herself for what was to come. "It won't make a difference you say, and you're right! But for the wrong reasons, Geralt! Who you're mourning won't come back. Your pain can't make you atone anything! What's done is done! And, I know for a fact that the one you're missing so desperately would loathe what you're doing to yourself right now. So, please! Let me try to remove it. I beg of you."

The witcher answered with silence, but his yellow eyes burned. Burned with anger, despair and disdain. His frown grew with her every word, his jaw tightening with every syllable she uttered.

Lith continued, somewhat softer now. "I understand that the pain, your physical pain, is a way for you to control yourself. I see that now. But Geralt... you will have to come to terms with your loved one being gone. Hurting yourself, directly and indirectly, will only uphold the feelings you have right now. You need to heal, Geralt. And I'll promise that I'll do what I can to aid you."

His eyes were burning her. She felt uncomfortable being under his scrutinising gaze. She wanted to crawl out of her skin, just to get those intense eyes off her.

She sat down on the bed, next to him. He was still piercing her with those cat-like eyes.

"Do you feel like telling me about it? What happened?"

She saw him swallow, again and again. She was ready for whatever he could possibly throw at her.

* * *

Geralt was furious. He clenched his jaw so hard that his teeth crunched as they were pressed together. He was a moment away from losing his composure, and he was afraid what he'd do.

He grabbed his medallion, feeling the cool silver in the palm of his hand. He'd lost so much. It was almost impossible to comprehend.

He understood that Lith was saying something, she was gesticulating, but he couldn't hear her. He felt her hand on his arm. That somehow stopped the fire burning inside him from getting more fuel. He felt tears behind his eyelids, burning just as hot as the emotions he kept inside. He wanted to tell her, but that would make everything real. And he wasn't ready to take it in, even though he knew that his fate was forever changed. From now on, independent.

"Her name is Ciri". _Fuck it, you don't want to do this. Not now. Not ever._ His mind and heart fighting each other. His heart won.

"Her name is Ciri. She's the one. My Child Surprise. She sacrificed herself to save us all. She was wonderful with her emerald green eyes and ashen hair. We looked like each other, but she wasn't mine. Not to begin with. But she became mine. And I became hers. My... daughter."

Geralt felt like it was hard to breathe. He felt sick. Lightheaded.

"We shared our destiny without us even knowing it. Our paths converged. She told me she was my destiny. I claimed her without knowing it was her I claimed. I never wanted to be a part of something like that, I never wanted her. I never believed it to be true. But... my Swallow. The lion cub... she proved me wrong. Desinty proved me wrong. After I learned of the demise of Cintra, I just knew that we belonged together because... I missed her then. I thought I lost her, and that hurt. But destiny, it played us. It brought us back together. I found her. She found me. And then, I knew."

He had to pause. Collect himself. He squeezed his medallion so tight that it drew blood. Only, he didn't notice it trickle down his wrist.

"So, I took her with me. We went to Kaer Morhen. I kept her there with the other witchers, trained her. She was a Source, she had to tame The Elder Blood within her. She loved it, all of it. She got help from sorceresses in order to stay safe." Geralt's voice grew weak.

"We were separated. For a long time, I forgot about her, about everything that was important. Must have been years but... I was summoned. Destiny had to make us meet. I got a contract, a contract on her. I looked for her. I looked for her in Velen. Novigrad. Skellige. But finally, I found her. My Ciri. Destiny brought us together, it wasn't supposed to end like this. We belonged, Ciri and I. She made the White Frost disappear, and for what?"

He felt the fire ignite within him. The roar was deafening, he felt like he was about to explode.

"For what?! I'm all alone. My destiny has been taken from me! My destiny is destroyed! All I wanted was to find that one thing that was left of her. That she left behind. And I did, I... I lost it! And that's why I don't give a shit anymore! Nothing is left for me to live for. I don't give a fuck what happens anymore to me, anyone, so just... Let me be."

It needed to be said. Geralt knew this as he buried his face and screamed.

* * *

Lith had despreately tried to make sense of Geralt's ramblings. But now, she knew. She knew what made him so indifferent towards himself, what made him seek out pain and provoke it. Why he longed for it.

She cried. She couldn't help herself. His pain was so raw, so intense that she couldn't keep his emotions off her. Just like that burning gaze of his. She was whisked away in his mourning. She thought that she'd been ready for him, but she wasn't.

She tried to understand. What it must be like to have a purpose and have it ripped from you. What void does it leave behind? A big one, surely. It was this void Geralt was so desperately trying to fill. Fill with regrets, self-loathing and self-harm. She also tried to understand the love he'd felt for her, for Ciri. It was mind-boggling, she couldn't comprehend it fully. It was something she never had felt, or witnessed up to this day. She could tell by Geralt's immense emptiness that he had nothing left. She remembered yesterday. How she had longed to be able to evoke the same feelings Geralt now felt in someone, anyone. Suddenly, she felt ashamed. She knew that she wouldn't wish this upon someone else. This excruciating torment of love lost. No, purpose lost.

She felt afraid. She had no idea what would become of a person deprived of his meaning. She had nothing to say, she just couldn't find the words. Nothing she could think of could possibly soothe him, and that made her feel worthless.

She couldn't bear it any longer. She threw herself at Geralt, ripping his hands from his face. Aiming for his embrace, to be able to feel his warmth and his arms around her. She suddenly needed comfort too. She felt like a hypocrite. And a liar.

* * *

Geralt let her in. When she came to him, desperately wanting to be near, he didn't have the power to reject her. She had such force in her movements that he was pressed back against the wall, making him groan slightly.

He could feel her tears on his neck and shoulder, her spastic sobs against his chest, her fingers digging into him. He, on the other hand, wept into her hair, tightened his arms around her and tried desperately to breathe. _End it. End everything. Please._

* * *

INTERLUDE

They remained clutched to each other for quite some time. Slowly, their grips loosened. She remained against his chest, he had his face in her hair. Synched breathing told them that they had found a calm in the storm, a storm they had followed each other through. People who venture out on a perilous journey either grow stonger together or fare better apart. Though sadly, they were exceptions to that rule.

Who knows who took the initiative. Much like their shared breathing, they were feeding off each other's signals. Their thoughts, feelings and desires acted though as one. They shared each other, offering themselves to the other to consume.

Anger and sadness, embarassment and insecurity had stopped acting as they were important, if only for a moment. Now, it was just them and their need to feel a closeness. A closeness they both hoped would give them solace. A union to derive anything, everything. A wish to leave nothing behind, unsaid or undone.

At that exact moment, neither of them wanted it to end. But it did.


	11. Epilogue

Once again, he'd taken off without saying anything. It was easier that way. Much easier.

The night was cold on his naked body. He walked slowly, feeling his battered body protesting with every step. Getting outside was a challenge to him, trying to be as quiet as he possibly could. Still, a heavily injured witcher is still much quieter than the average person.

He walked down towards the field, hearing the horses as he did. There, a shed. Probably where his things were, he guessed . He'd found nothing except for his alchemy box in the cottage. He entered, and saw his belongings neatly organised. He searched through the saddlebags and pulled out a simple shirt and trousers. Getting dressed was almost a mockery, the pain was almost insufferable. No time to waste, he had to work faster.

He opened the little wooden box he'd carried with him, trying to sort through and mix the different components. Something for the pain. Something to energise. He downed the two potions, not even tasting the bitterness.

Now, for the tack. The saddle was disgustingly heavy as he exited the shed and walked the few steps to the fence. He didn't whistle. There was no need, the bay mare had come up to greet him as soon as she saw him. She exhaled, a warm scent of grass and thistles.

"Not now, Roach."

He felt annoyed. Bridling the mare was more difficult than he'd expected. The potion wasn't as effective as he'd hoped, the pain was blinding. The mare accepted the bit, but pulling the neck piece over and behind her ears was tough since she wouldn't put her head down. His arm and side where throbbing.

If bridling the mare was difficult, saddling her was nearly impossible. He thought of leaving the saddle, but realised that he wouldn't last long bareback. The mare stood quietly, watching her master try time and time again. After several pathetic attempts, he somehow got the saddle on. Not by conventional means. He tightened the girth and walked out of the pasture, followed by the mare.

He had stuffed everything he possibly could in the saddlebags. Having something on him, wearing anything, was something he wanted to avoid. He pondered about the swords, maybe he could wear them the usual way? No, he concluded. He fastened the swords to the saddle. Sure, they would probably flop around as the horse moved, but that would have to work.

Mounting. He opted out, no gymnastics today. He found a crate to give him some elevation, and he slowly put his foot in the stirrup whilst holding on to the mane of the mare. A jolt of pain almost made him faint as he threw his leg over the mare's back. He caught his breath, waited for the dancing dots to disappear from his eyes. He squeezed the mare's sides with his legs, telling her to walk on. No need to turn around, to see what he was about to leave behind.

The grey gelding trotted next to them, on his side of the fence. He was apparently distraught not being able to follow them. He let out an ear-piercing neigh.

"Go, Roach!" Geralt gathered the reins and kicked the sides of the mare, who quickly started to canter, down the road. Away from the small cottage outside Toderas.

* * *

He must have been riding for quite some time. The moon had walked on its usual trajectory, staying low just above the trees. Ready to disappear.

The wind was picking up. Dressed only in a shirt and trousers, he knew that he would have to find somewhere to rest. At least for a bit. Make a fire. He doubted he would be able to cast a sign.

Pain. A mind-numbing pain shot through his body. He pulled on the reins, getting the mare to slow down. Trying to hold on the the pommel to remain upright. The mare stopped as she felt her master losing his balance, sliding down her right side.

As Geralt saw his horse from below, he noticed that it had started to snow. Soft, icy flakes landing on his face, melting away as quickly as they touched him. He'd decided. He would ride for Kaer Morhen. Spending the winter there, like many times before. Like a wolf in its den. Licking its wounds.

He coughed. He never saw the spray of blood leaving his lips.

* * *

She woke up with a jolt to a horse's neigh. _No. No!_

She jumped out of bed, taking the woolen blanket with her as she leapt and tossed it around her in one swift motion. She made it to the door, flung it open, and saw a bay mare canter down into the woods.

She went inside. _He'd left._ She went back to the bed and sat down. This was not the way she had portrayed it in her mind, the way they would part. _If he'd waited. If he'd waited, just a couple of hours more._

In the corner of her eye, she saw something glistening. Turning her head, she felt an overwhelming panic. A silver medallion lay next to the bed, glistening as it caught the light from the hearth. A medallion depicting a wolf.

With tears welling from her eyes, she picked it up. What was that, something fell on the floor? A note.

"For you. Do with it as you see fit. Thank you." _No. No. NO!_

She left the medallion on the bed.

* * *

_It feels coarse. Prickly._

It was the last thought she'd ever have, taking the step out that would lead her to oblivion. And as she felt the last heartbeats she would ever feel, drew the last breath she would ever draw, a silver medallion fell from her twitching hands on the floor.

A medallion. The last thing she ever saw. Slowly resonating with its kin, on the other side of the room.

**-THE END-**


End file.
